


When Doves Cry

by bumbleflight



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prison, M/M, On Hiatus, fuckin old fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:53:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25542394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bumbleflight/pseuds/bumbleflight
Summary: Gerard shot Ray a hard side glance. "I think I'll risk it.""Not today," Ray shook his head. "I'm serious, Gerard. Just this once, okay?"Gerard paused to consider. "Alright," he said. "Just this once."
Relationships: Frank Iero/Gerard Way
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> fic i started three years ago!! what a wild ride

Gerard was getting really tired of being ignored.

Letting a small cloud of cold air from his lips, Gerard pulled his jacket further up his neck. It didn't help though, and the cold winter air still managed to find its way in. However, the freezing air was nowhere as cold as the icy glares coming from the people around him. Focusing his gaze determinedly at the ground, Gerard kicked the toe of his boot into the frozen dirt.

He really hadn't meant to kill the nicest man on his block. It wasn't even his own fucking fault! How was he supposed to know someone he sold to was going to murder Allman?

Someone spat at Gerard, and it landed inches away from his toe. He snapped his head up angrily, and they jumped away. Christ, was he really that terrifying? It wasn't like he was about to whip out a shiv and stab this guy to death! Unlike some people here, he was a dealer, and not bloodthirsty. The rec field was full of C Block prisoners, all silent and standing a few inches apart.

When was this fire drill going to end?

Twin River's County Prison required they do two drills a year, but Gerard wasn't sure why they were always done in the winter. He guessed that they had been most likely forgotten, and left on the side until the last months of the year. How considerate to his frost-bitten toes.

The signal that the drill had ended seemed to take ages to come, and once it sounded, Gerard let out a sigh of relief. Finally, he could leave. It had to be at least lunch by now, right? Gerard was almost positive he'd had a couple of soups in his locker somewhere. That'd definitely be enough for ramen or Jolly Ranchers – if someone had been willing to trade him. Or even look at him. Mikey really needed to hurry up and "forgive" him, already.

Taking in a raspy breath, Gerard scoffed to himself. It was their loss, anyway. He'd been the best dealer any of them had ever had because he was the only one who knew how to be quiet and keep his mouth shut. He was second to only one person in this entire place, and it wasn't his fucking fault someone had chosen to use his shit kill Allman.

Fucking Allman. No one knew who'd poisoned his food yet – no one even knew if it was Gerard that dealt the killer the drugs! They were all assuming. Just because Gerard was the most popular dealer at Twin, it didn't make him the only one. There were no clues as to who poisoned Allman – a few crazy people even suspected Gerard – but he just wished they'd hurry up and solve it so someone else could get spat on. Gerard didn't think he'd go back to dealing anytime soon (assuming that Mikey even let him). He needed some time to breathe, and he couldn't have picked a better time than now.

"Hey!" Gerard was yanked out of his thoughts as someone pulled his arm, startling him. Turning quickly, Gerard frowned. It was Ray; the only person who was speaking to him at the moment. Which, for the most part, Gerard didn't deserve.

"Don't fucking grab me like that," Gerard snapped, and the other put up his hands innocently. "Sorry," Ray said quickly. His normal scrubs had been covered by an issued, navy-colored jacket, with holes wearing in the sleeves. Gerard thought it looked stupid. "I just thought you'd want to know that there's a TPAP going on in D block right now."

"D Block gets a TPAP and we get a fire drill?" Gerard huffed in annoyance, brushing Ray off. He half wished there was an actual fire and D Block had been trapped inside. "Either way, you know I don't like those fucking things, Toro, leave me alone. It's lunch and I'm hungry." Gerard turned his shoulder, walking faster. It was usually like this with the different parts of prison. D Block was full of well-behaved pricks and old people, so they didn't have to do shit like fire drills in the snow. C Block – his block – was full of kids and their fucking gangs.

"You're not hearing me," Ray lengthened his stride to keep up, shaking his head slightly. Their feet made wet squelching noises in the muddy and frozen ground. "Maybe something is going down at lunch that you'd rather not be a part of."

Gerard shot Ray a hard side glance. "I'll take my risks."

"Not today," Ray shook his head, tight-lipped. He looked nervous and kept playing with the broken zipper on his sleeve. "I'm serious, Gerard. Just this once, okay?"

Gerard paused to consider. He'd seen lots of shit go down at lunch – but being Mikey's brother kept him immune. However, Mikey wasn't very happy with him after Allman died this morning, so maybe he'd better save his shots until this blew over.

"Alright," He said. "Just this once."

•••

Gerard could hear the jeers from the next hall over as he walked through the cold building, that was barely warmer than the winter outside. His feet squeaked on linoleum floors so shiny he could see his own reflection if he looked hard enough, and there wasn't a CO in sight. Well, not a real one. Two floaters lingered in a far corner, whispering to each other as their type often did. Those two wouldn't have been able to stop an exchange if it happened right under their nose, which only made Gerard worry slightly. If someone were to jump him right now, the odds of him getting out alive weren't extremely high.

Ray put his hands in his waistband respectfully as they passed the officers as they were told to, but Gerard groaned, barely sticking his fingernails into the starchy material. One of the COs shot him a dirty look, but neither spoke. Gerard could get a warning for not following protocol (three warnings and you were put in solitary for twenty-three hours, seeing as a full day was against the law), but technically he hadn't broken any rules. His hands were still in his waistband, so he wasn't about to attack an officer.

"Jesus," Ray murmured as they rounded the corner, dropping his hands to his sides as they walked into the milieu. "You should be more careful, man." Here, the linoleum floor changed from a dull tan to a faded red and white checker as they entered a common area. It was obvious who was shouting now, and Gerard sneered at the sight. There was a small circle of chairs, barely visible through the chattering crowd of inmates around it. Inside the circle were a good handful of cadres, defined by a stupid fucking sticker on their badge.

Gerard hated cadres. They were goddamn prisoners who earned a bit of privilege for being "disciplined" in their time at Twin, and awarded themselves the right to snitch and cross blocks past eight pm and before six am. The officers treated them no better than any other inmate – maybe with the occasional blind eye. But the other prisoners definitely treated them worse.

"Disrespectful!" The first cadre shouted, shoving his face into the inmate being reprimanded. His light hair fell into his flaming red face as he yelled, "This isn't a fucking daycare! You messed up, and now you're going to repent!"

What was this, church? Gerard laughed to himself, focusing in on the small guy in the middle. He was seated on a small metal chair with his hands underneath him, as one did during a TPAP. These things were more prisoner-run than officer-run, despite how the facility advertised them.

Basically, when a prisoner fucked up (but not enough to be transferred to max), they were given a public shaming, or TPAP. They were almost exclusively for younger folks – Gerard didn't think he'd ever seen someone in the middle of the circle that was above thirty. The cadres would conspire until they felt ready enough to absolutely obliterate a man. It was kind of fucked up, but entertaining.

"What would your mother think?" Another cadre yelled, his voice rumbly and deep. He was an older bald man, and Gerard stared at the large vein bulging out of the guy's neck curiously, wondering if he was going to have a stroke. "What'd your family think?"

"They're all dead," The dude mumbled, barely loud enough for Gerard to hear. The cadres exploded at this. "Did I say you could talk?" One screamed, and Gerard flinched as they punched the kid. The sound of the blow was louder than he'd expected. "No talking back!"

One of the many officers watching from the side made a low noise at the hit, and the cadre immediately backed off, lowering his head in cowardice.

"You can't hit him," Gerard said as unhelpfully as possible, and a few heads swung around to look at him. "Looks like Way wants to go next," One of the cadres muttered, and the other shook his head. "That's Mikey's; leave it."

The light-haired one laughed, throwing his fist at no one in particular. "Even Mikey doesn't want that one right now – dealt to someone that did away with Allman."

Gerard fumed at that. No one had proof that it was him! It could have been anyone.

The cadre seemed to sense his anger. With a snide glance at Gerard, the cadre spit on his thumb and rubbed it in the seated guy's eye. The dude didn't react, just scrunched up his face and leaned back a bit.

"You done?" One of the officers shouted dully, and the light-haired cadre nodded, not breaking eye contact with Gerard. People began to leave the room, and Gerard finally looked away, growling slightly as Ray grabbed his shoulder.

"Not worth it," Ray muttered, and Gerard swung himself away. "Stop getting involved in my life." He snapped, and Ray blinked, looking appalled.

"For someone who's in a really tight spot, you don't seem to want any help." Ray said quietly, and Gerard threw his head back, looking at the ceiling. "Maybe that's 'cause no one can help me."

"That's not true, Gerard," Ray objected as they walked. "Everyone can be helped."

Gerard could have laughed in spite of himself. "What are you gonna do, Toro?" He asked sourly. "Get me out of jail? Find me a real job? Save me from the chair?"

"They don't – chairs were made illegal in, I don't know! Maybe the sixties, Gerard! And you're not on fucking death row, no one's coming to kill you!" Ray said, slightly exasperated, before catching himself. "No one can stop you from dying, but no one can help you either, unless you're willing to be helped."

Gerard spun around to face him. "Then consider me unwilling."


	2. Chapter 2

It was two am when Gerard woke up.

He'd been having another one of his fire dreams about being trapped in a burning building. The plastered walls would be ablaze with white-hot flames, and the thick, fiery smoke-filled lungs until he couldn't breathe. The doors were all locked, and even if they hadn't been, he wouldn't have been able to see. The worst part was undoubtedly the end, when he finally ran out of places to run, and he curled under the kitchen table until it finally collapsed over him. They were kind of weird dreams, to be honest, but always make Gerard wake up with a pounding heart and sweaty palms.

Sitting up slowly, Gerard scrubbed a hand over his face. The lights never fully went off at Twin, so he could see a fair part of the room even in the dead of night. He could see a couple of COs in their booth at the far side of the room, down on the first floor. There were no windows on the second floor since it was barely more than a catwalk, but if he'd been able to see outside it would have been black.

Gerard wondered what had woken him up, since no one else appeared to be awake. He was about to go back to sleep when he finally heard it again; a small rusting noise, and then – a hiccup? Straining to hear better, Gerard straightened, tilting his head slightly. It sounded like someone was puking or something, or – Oh.

Someone was crying.

Curling his lip, Gerard flopped back into bed, earning a small grunt from the guy in the bottom bunk as he shook the bed. That motherfucker needed to learn to cry quietly. Who the hell cried loudly enough to wake people up? Gerard squeezed his eyes shut and rolled over.

But even a pillow over his head wouldn't drown out the noise, and after a long few minutes (and the annoyed pondering of why no one else seemed to be bothered by this), Gerard opened his eyes again. He was going to deal with this himself. Glancing at the officer booth to make sure none of them were looking his way, Gerard crawled out of bed. It was freezing cold without his blankets for warmth, and he regretted his decision of getting up immediately.

"Can you shut the fuck up," His bunkie groaned as the ladder squeaked, and Gerard ignored him. The dude was missing so many teeth that Gerard had been surprised he could still talk the first time they'd met. Every following time they'd crossed paths, he wanted to punch the rest out for himself. If he couldn't sleep, neither would this guy.

It didn't take Gerard long to locate where the crying was coming from. After all, it had to be pretty close to have woken him up. It was someone on a bottom bunk (thank God, because Gerard didn't want to be clambering around anywhere to wake someone up), curled up in their blankets. The culprit was made obvious by their shaking body, and Gerard crept over, shoving them with his hand lightly. "Get up."

Jumping under his touch, the person scrambled into a sitting position, eyes wide. It didn't take Gerard long to recognize him as the small guy from the TPAP – mainly due to the small bruise and split skin under one of his eyes – and his mouth twitched slightly. Had he just transferred to C Block today?

"Look, I get it," Gerard murmured, keeping his voice low and his eyes focused on the trembling kid. "Prison sucks, your old man's dead, and you got your ass kicked." Gerard paused, adjusting his jaw. It was really fucking cold tonight, and he wanted to get back in bed. "But you need to can it. If you want to cry, take it to the shower, alright? But you're keeping me up,"

The smaller guy nodded silently, his shoulders trembling. His legs were shaking as well, and Gerard frowned. "Are you having a seizure or something?"

"No," The dude shook his hair firmly, not meeting Gerard's eye. "I'm just cold."

Gerard noticed the dude wasn't wearing a jacket or sweater, and sighed. Something inside him was clicking and turning, telling him to lend this guy a hand, because hadn't they all been here once? Hadn't everyone in this fucking prison had a first day, where they were scared shitless? Maybe if someone had done what Gerard was about to, then things wouldn't have turned out like this for him.

"Come on, let's go," He huffed, waving the guy out of bed. The boy flinched, putting on his sliders nervously and looking up at Gerard with round eyes. He was awfully pretty, with fucked-up hair and a narrow face. Gerard pitied him; he shouldn't have to be in a place like this. While the other guy put his shoes on, Gerard went back to his bed and pulled a can of soup from the mattress.

An officer caught them as they reached the bottom of the stairs, holding up her hand. "Don't tell me you're going to the bathroom, 'cause you both look like fags, and I'm not an idiot." She snapped sourly, but Gerard cut her off, ignoring her comment. He was only mildly offended. "We need to go to the kitchen."

"Really?" She said skeptically, looking over at the other boy. "Who are you? I haven't seen you here before."

"Frank," He said quietly, before correcting himself quickly. "Iero. I'm from D Block. I just came today."

Gerard furrowed his brow thoughtfully. The name sounded uncomfortably familiar, and Gerard tried his best to shrug it off. He'd figure it out later. The female CO was still talking with Frank. "Particularly into fudge-packing? None of you claim to be gay, but I know how sneaky you inmates can be. One second you're showering, the next . . ." She made a weird gesture Gerard didn't care to repeat.

Was she serious right now? Gerard almost laughed at the look on Frank's face. The small guy's eyes were wide, and his eyebrows were tightly knit together. Gerard couldn't tell if he was terrified or disgusted.

"No ma'am," Frank said, and the CO seemed satisfied with that. "Well, I haven't seen you around D Block, either." She said, and Frank wrung his hands nervously.

"I've only been out of admissions," He admitted. "I came from county."

"Boy," The officer laughed, shaking her head. "I never saw you once in A&O. And what do you need the kitchen for?"

Frank looked at Gerard helplessly, but Gerard was already talking. "He's got diabetes. Needs some soup real soon or he might pass out. Didn't you hear him crying?" He stepped on Frank's toe pointedly, and Frank spoke up. "Yeah, I feel really sick." He whispered, his teeth chattering.

"That was you crying?" The CO pointed at Frank, who nodded, embarrassed. She laughed again. "Alright, baby," The CO shook her head again, waving them toward the door and unlocking it with her keycard. "But we're doing this fast as shit, 'cause my shift ends in twenty minutes and I want to get home before the snow starts up again."

Once they reached the kitchen, the CO waited outside while the two of them went in. "What are you doing?" Frank asked softly, and Gerard shrugged, hoping that it came off more polite than ignoring him. Taking a plastic bag from the counter, Gerard opened the soup and poured the contents into the bag, before putting it into the microwave. He gave the can's lid to the officer outside (as it could technically be used for a weapon), and then took the bag out.

"Hot water bottle; hide it in your shirt." Gerard handed him the bag, and Frank took it hesitantly. "How did you think of this?" He asked, and Gerard turned back toward the door, opening it.

"Wasn't my invention," Gerard said honestly, rubbing his forehead. During the winter a lot of men did it to stay warm, but it was cold, and Gerard wanted to sleep. "Hurry up."

They walked back down the hall in silence, the only sound coming being the jangling of the officer's keys. Once they were back in the pod, the CO went back to her booth and the two of them back to the stairs.

"Thank you," Frank said quietly, reaching his arm out quietly in the darkness before pulling it back quickly when Gerard didn't move. "Oh, sorry, I – I don't know what that was."

Something jolted in Gerard's chest. Something oddly familiar, and he didn't like it at all. Frowning and shaking his head, Gerard turned silently and went back to his bed.


	3. Chapter 3

It wasn't until breakfast that Mikey spoke to him again.

Gerard was sitting at a table with Ray and Frank, poking at whatever these two slices of bread were supposed to be. Now he had two people talking to him, which he supposed was an improvement from yesterday.

"How'd you sleep?" Ray asked. Being himself, he always had to run through the humanities. Gerard despised it. "Fine," Frank answered, which was a fucking lie. He was still in his admissions uniform, which was rumpled from sleeping in it all night. Gerard decided to show him how to "iron" clothes, later.

"He slept horribly. Was up all night," Gerard interjected, pointedly ignoring the crying part and taking a bite of bread. "How much time you got, Frank?"

Frank shifted awkwardly, looking to Ray for help. Gerard put his hand up. "Don't look at him – tell me."

"I didn't do anything," Frank said, his eyes focused on the table as he fiddled with one of his sleeves. "They said I shot up a school, but I didn't do anything." Frank's tongue ran along the outside of his teeth nervously, and he pushed his hair to one side.

"I wasn't asking about that," Gerard made a small, uncommentable noise in his throat. "But I'm guessing you're like Ray." He nodded toward the other boy. "One-hundred and twelve years for a misunderstanding. Guns are legal in America – God-given right, or whatever."

"One-hundred and twelve years?" Frank said in shock, and Ray laughed, shaking his head. "Yeah," He said. "I was sixteen and they tried me like an adult. Fuck, as if a life sentence weren't enough!"

"I'm telling you, if you were in a gang this wouldn't have happened," Gerard shrugged, pushing away his food. He was full – he'd manage until lunch even without his normal amount of soup.

"You couldn't pay me enough. Plus, you've got a crew - and look what happened to you." Ray pointed out, only to be cut off as a pair of hands clamped down on Gerard's shoulders. The hell?

They'd come from behind Gerard and Ray, so the only person who could have warned him was Frank. But Frank seemed to be frozen in fear; his eyes wide and body stiff. What the fuck was wrong with that guy? So fuckin' jumpy.

Gerard turned around to see Mikey, and somewhere a few steps back, Pete. Pete always hid in Mikey's shadow – Just as Mikey liked him too. Despite weighing a solid twenty pounds or so more than him, Gerard undoubtedly knew that he couldn't beat his own brother in a fight. And even if he could, he wouldn't want to.

"Making friends?" Mikey laughed, and Gerard scoffed. "I wouldn't call it that."

"How do you always manage to find the Italians before me?" Mikey whined, sitting down at their table. "I keep telling Pete to bring them to me first, but somehow this one snuck away. It's frustrating, really." Mikey grabbed some of Frank's food, eating it lazily. Frank didn't move. Gerard would have thought he wasn't breathing either, if it weren't for the shallow rise and fall in his chest. It could clearly be seen through his admission scrubs and reminded Gerard that the damn Warden needed to find COs that distributed uniforms faster than a month.

"You're forgiven for what you did," Mikey said to Gerard after he'd swallowed his food, tugging at his shirt as if it were too small when it was four sizes too large for him. "But no more meds. You don't buy anything, sell anything, or take anything. Got it?"

Gerard nodded, glancing at Pete. Was he going to sit down, or just keep standing there? "It wasn't me, you know," Gerard said gruffly, scratching his head. "I didn't poison Allman."

"Oh, I know," Mikey said lightly, standing up. "I did that."

Gerard paused, turning to face Mikey accusingly. "You what?" His voice was low and disbelieving. Why would Mikey do something like that? Allman wasn't anyone important, he was just another inmate that happened to be unusually friendly to everyone.

Mikey laughed his weird, high-pitched giggle. "I want Wentz, not you." The thin boy explained, waving a heavily tattooed arm. "I can't drop guys for no reason, Gerard. People would look at me weird! But now that you've killed Allman–"

"Mikey, I didn't!" Gerard protested, but Mikey wasn't listening, turning to Ray instead. "You shouldn't be here," Mikey said, pointing a finger. "Go join your table, alright?"

Ray didn't say anything, looking angrily at Mikey, and Gerard cleared his throat. "Ray doesn't speak Spanish, okay? He can sit with me if he wants."

"That's hilarious that you think you have any say in this, Gerard!" Deciding that his work was done, Mikey swung away from the table, taking Pete with him. The table sat in an odd silence for a few moments, camouflaging in the room full of bustling, blue-clothed bodies. For a moment, Gerard could almost imagine being invisible – insignificant almost. However, his feeling was broken when Ray spoke up, almost sympathetically.

"Sorry, Frank," Ray said, nudging the boy, who looked like he was going to be sick. "Mikey's not always like that."

Frank had paled; the lighter skin defining his lightly creased brows and terrified eyes. He'd get his blue scrubs today for sure, and his boots to replace those ugly slippers. Maybe he'd make a friend who'd lend him a bar of commissary-soap. The only thing prison-issued soap was good for was being tied into a sock and used to beat someone.

And it could have been Gerard's imagination – the mix of nerves with last night's lack of sleep – but Frank had nodded, looking firmly down at his lap, and muttered, "No, he's always like that."

•••

Gerard was still fuming after breakfast, throwing bags of laundry into washing machines with increasing aggression. Frank watched on silently, moving his own bags more carefully.

Another inmate who worked laundry (Gerard had never bothered to learn his name) wheeled in a new cart, pausing as he noticed Frank. "What are you doing here?" He asked, not unkindly, with a smile spread across his face.

Frank sort of shied, hunching his shoulders. "Sorry, I haven't applied for work yet. I know I won't get paid for today."

"Naw," The laundry-guy cut in, shaking his head. His brown hair was cropped on the sides, and the way he filled his uniform gave the illusion that he was well-built. "What are you doing in here? Who the fuck arrested you?"

"The same people who arrest eighty-year-old women, I guess," Frank said, so quietly that at first Gerard wasn't sure if he'd spoken. The laundry guy heard him, though, and burst out laughing. A few other prisoners glanced at them, but Gerard glared at them until they looked away.

"I'd tell you to help the bathroom overlies, but I heard they're a bit overstaffed." The laundry-guy said, before breaking into another hearty laugh. It wasn't funny, but Gerard snorted. Scrubbing prison toilets was the most undesirable job here, and everyone who got put in that either switched out immediately, or only applied so they could drink the cleaning supplies. It went without saying that almost no one worked bathrooms, and those who did didn't last long.

"Laundry isn't much better," Gerard scoffed, trying to touch the mesh bags as little as possible when he picked them up. The socks over his hands offered little protection to whatever horrible substances had touched these stranger's clothing.

"How much time have you got?" The other inmate asked cheerfully as he emptied the cart to the concrete floor. He was a little younger than Gerard – maybe Frank's age – and his breast pocket was embroidered with Mark Xin in fading white embroidery. But since the guy was clearly not Asian, and all the shirts were reused from an older facility that had closed thirty years ago, it was safe to assume that Mark was not his actual name. Gerard's current shirt was his Gregory Craig one, and every sentence came with six used shirts and three pairs of used pants – so, nine names. Every now and then someone would have a nameless shirt; donated from the camp a mile or so out. They were immediately deemed jackasses.

"Uh, one hundred and thirty-two months." Frank answered awkwardly, and the guy nodded sympathetically.

"Guess we'll be getting to know each other pretty well, then?" The guy asked, and Gerard half-smiled, slamming another washing machine door shut and starting it. There was no need to add soap – if inmates wanted any, they had to purchase it from canteen and leave it in their laundry bag.

Gerard was glad Frank was meeting people; but he still couldn't get over how Frank had acted around Mikey. Did Frank had fucking crippling anxiety? Or did the two know each other? It seemed awfully possible to Gerard; after all, Twin was barely out of Mikey's hometown, and lots of people here knew him outside. That didn't explain everything, though, but covered enough to keep Gerard satisfied for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i cant take myself seriously with biggie cheese existing okay


	4. Chapter 4

The laundry room guy's name was Brendon Urie, and he was serving an eighty-four-month sentence some drug-related shit. Honestly, everyone here was, and Gerard couldn't care less. Brendon already had a three-years done – and if Gerard's brain had done his math remotely correct – the dude still had a good amount of time left. Frank had also finally received his official prison uniform, as well as a coat.

It was rec time right now, but since Frank wasn't approved to go outside yet, and the sky was dumping snow, they decided to stay inside. Usually, Gerard would have spent this time in the classroom, watching TV with Mikey and his people – but Gerard felt more like spending it with Frank and Brendon right now. Ray had found their group eventually, immediately asking Frank about every possible aspect of his life.

"Have you gone to canteen yet, Frank?" Ray pressed. "You'll need a lock, here in C Block."

"I don't have money," Frank answered sheepishly, shaking his head. He was sitting quietly at the table, his feat neatly touching the ground. "Someone in D Block gave me soap, though. And chicken flavoring?"

"Hell yeah!" Brendon grinned. "The best thing ever. Four-hundred milligrams of sodium can make anything taste amazing." Unlike Frank, Brendon was sprawled out all over his seat, lounging carelessly. Gerard sort of hated him for it.

"I'm vegetarian," Frank said weakly. There was a large pause of silence, and then a fit of laughter from Brendon. Gerard stifled his own chuckles, and Ray pat Frank on the back sympathetically. "Sometimes the beans here are good," Ray offered kindly. "But on the TVP days, I'd skip out entirely."

TVP stood for "texturized vegetable protein," otherwise known as cat shit. It was always the nastiest smell in the kitchen, and nothing in this world would be able to convince Gerard to eat it.

Well, on second thought, soft sheets, a hot shower, and art supplies would be well worth the acrid mush.

Ray stood up from the table, motioned at Frank to get up as well. "Let's go grab you a lock. Otherwise, you'll have lost your new uniform by tonight."

"Get me some Vaseline while you're at it!" Brendon called, and Gerard snorted. "Get your own fapping materials." He retorted, making Frank laugh a little.

Brendon sighed, making a scene of getting out of his seat, before turning to Gerard curiously. "Are you coming?" He asked, and Gerard shook his head. "I'll stay here." He lied, watching as the three of them went down toward the pharmacy, where canteen was. Once they had left his line of sight, Gerard got up and walked in the opposite direction, toward the classroom.

It was loud when he got in there, but it took almost no time at all to spot Mikey. The blonde boy was seated on the far side of the room, surrounded by people. Gerard knew Mikey used laundry bleach on his hair, as he was the one to sneak him the product every couple of weeks.

"Look who came to join us!" Mikey said brightly, grinning slightly. Gerard's shoulders curled in a bit as everyone turned to look at him, and he walked over and took a seat. "Hey."

Some baking show was playing loudly in the background, and Gerard scoffed to himself. Typical of Mikey to watch something like that. Before Gerard could say anything else, someone spoke up. They had dark hair and dark eyes – but were still painfully white – with a scar running out from the corner of one of their eyes. "Just so you know, Wentz hasn't dealt anywhere other than high school." He whispered, not quietly. Eye-scar dude had a slight frame, and thin, mousy hair that fell around their narrow face, reminding Gerard of someone Mikey would go after. "So far, he's almost been caught by an officer, and dealt to another dealer."

"It hasn't even been a full day!" Pete protested quietly, running his hand through his hair. Eye-scar guy laughed at this, pointing a finger. "Exactly!" He cried. "It hasn't even been a full day and you've fucked up, twice."

"Leave him be," Some dude with ugly-ass sideburns called, taking off his glasses to polish them on his shirt. Gerard considered taking black the frames and stepping on them, for no reason in particular.

"If I leave him be, I'm not going to get my Oxy anymore," Eye-scar dude complained, shooting Pete a pointed look. "We're going to get caught by the end of the day, and if I don't get my pills I'll die."

"Then maybe you shouldn't have gotten so addicted to them," Mikey spoke. "If you die without a couple fucking tabs, that's on you. I picked Pete, and whether he's a piece of shit or not, what I say goes."

Eye-scar dude opened his mouth to say more, but quickly shut it and nodded. "Yeah, okay," He agreed. Pete looked a little calmer, and Sideburns went back to polishing his glasses.

"You still mad?" Mikey nudged Gerard with the toe of his boot. Gerard looked at him and shrugged. "I guess not. I mean, it's been a whole three hours, hasn't it? A fourth hour and that'd be practically an eternity of hate."

"Calm down," The blonde boy laughed a little. It was moments like these that made Gerard wish he were the taller one. "I've done so much shit for you, so the least you can do is show a little respect." Mikey added.

So much shit? Like what? Gerard wondered, frowning. Getting him into a gang when he was eighteen? Making Gerard do his dirty work, so Mikey didn't have to? He could have gotten his GED, but no, Mikey had ruined that for him. Sometimes he still wanted to get one, but the programs the prison offered were so lazily taught Gerard considered them a waste of time.

"Okay, I'm sorry." Gerard said flatly, because he had done nothing, and he wasn't sorry for anything. Mikey lit up anyway, nodding. "I knew you'd understand." He said, smiling. "You're a good dude, Gerard. Smarter than most."

"Alright," Gerard clenched his jaw, looking out the window. Maybe those guys would be back from canteen by now. "I should get going."

"I saw you sitting with that guy Iero," Mikey said, lazily leaning back on his chair. "Dude's a fag and a snitch, Gerard. I'd avoid him, if I were you. You know how gays have no self-restraint."

Gerard furrowed his brows, trying to keep his expression even. Mikey truly enjoyed pretending that he wasn't a fucking gay himself. The two of them may have grown up a couple of states apart, but it only took seeing a few of Mikey's glances towards other inmates to know what he really felt.

"How do you know about that kid?" Gerard asked, and Mikey snorted, rolling his eyes. This intrigued Gerard more, because Mikey usually didn't show this much emotion or concern about anyone.

"Don't call him a fucking kid; he's older than me." Mikey said, waving his hand dismissively. "I know about him 'cause I know about everyone. Iero's just funny cause he's scared of his own shadow."

"No thanks to you," Gerard explained. "Dropping in and pushing him around. Dude's a fuckin' fish, the least you can do is leave him be."

"Are you telling me what to do?" Mikey snapped suddenly, sitting up straight. The room went slowly quiet, and Gerard stiffened. Shit, the last thing he needed was for Mikey to get pissed off at him. "'Cause it kind of sounds like you're trying to give orders."

Gerard shook his head slowly. "No, Mikey. I'm not telling you what to do."

Mikey snorted and smiled. "Happy to hear!" He didn't sound very happy to Gerard. "Now, stay the fuck away from Iero."


End file.
